


The Robe

by plaidshirtjimkirk



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: Established Relationship, Guilt, Heavy Angst, M/M, Toshisami, What Have I Done, canon character death, konhiji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 14:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15221123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk
Summary: Ibuki brings a robe to Okita. Okita brings it to Hijikata. No one knows the color, but it’s definitely not white.





	The Robe

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry in advance.

  
  
**.*The Robe*.**

The robe was once white. But it wasn’t white any longer.

Feet planted themselves before a battered wooden gate leading to the house he’d barely managed to find with such ambiguous instructions. And now more than ever, he wondered… Why? Why had this task fallen to his hands, when they weren’t even strong enough to hold a sword? It was unfitting at best and pathetic at worst. Surely, there was someone better, someone more worthy of seeing something of such importance through.

The answer, however, was as clear as the tapestry of stars above Ibuki’s head, shining unobscured and bright through the darkness. He’d been entrusted with this because he’d personally been there, beyond the latticing of fence and reaching out with desperate cries that left his throat sore even now.

Still, the responsibility befalling to him proved the taste of irony was more bitter than any medicinal herb, and his shoulders far too weak for such a burden.

Ibuki’s face had been angled downward for so long that his neck ached, his expression contorted from attempting to repress the despair which encumbered his chest with such force that it was difficult to even breathe. His will had never been strong enough and as if to mock the characteristic softness of his spine, the tears defied such wishes easily now—hot and unending, pushing through tightly clenched eyes to bleed out oceans of sorrow.

It was intolerable and _unyielding_ …a pain which cut so deeply that Ibuki felt his knees threatening to give way.

…Control. He needed to find control—or _something_ to carry him onward so he could make it through this.

He held the garment closer to his heaving chest, clung to it as if this were his heartbreak to bear. And perhaps, in a way, it was; the owner was a friend, a true ally in troubled times—someone who believed in him and pushed him to do better. Yet, the depths of grief battering him raw also felt like an intrusion, for he’d only walked so far in the footprints of wolves. Ibuki’s love and loyalty had only reached a certain extent, and in turn, he’d never known what it felt like to be revered in the way a partner or son was.

So, certainly…

He straightened his back, squared his shoulders…

Certainly…his role in all of this was the easiest.

Despite mentally and physically building himself up to finish what he’d begun, Ibuki’s lashes refused to part. Therefore, he relented and simply took a moment to breathe deeply and focus—to listen to the sounds around him of vitality. Of birds chirping and insects singing. Of a gentle breeze, of a cat’s cry in the distance. Of a world still so full of life, even when it could just…stop for someone on an individual scale.

And just when Ibuki had begun to find the makings of a path to calm within his surroundings, there was another noise: the creak of a door opening, followed by a soft cough and cracking utterance.

“I—Ibuki-kun?”

Ibuki’s eyes snapped open the moment when Okita’s voice feathered into his ears, his stomach dropping as dread flooded through him; thrust into this situation without being ready, his mouth gaped, just to find the words failing him. Ibuki’s face felt wet and tense, hot from crying and yet cold against the night. With a shake of the head, he watched as his company’s gaze dropped to the robe he cradled.

When Okita’s attention landed on it, he froze. He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His lower lip fell for several seconds before one question was spoken—smooth and yet laced with trepidation. “…Whose…?”

Fireflies drifted about lazily as Ibuki staggered forward to close the space between Okita and himself, his legs like rubber and feet nearly becoming entangled from ineptitude. “O—Okita-san.” Shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths, his tone veiled by tidal waves of emotion beating ugly gashes into the fabric of his soul. “It’s—It’s—” Ibuki’s teeth gritted again while pearled beads pushed forth to escape his clenched eyes.

“It’s Kondo-san’s,” Okita finished, barely loud enough to be heard.

Ibuki dropped his face and he choked out, “It isn’t his anymore.”

~

The horse galloped by starlight, sparkling droplets from its rider’s eyes carried off by the whisper of the wind. One hand gripped the reins, the other held the robe securely to an aching chest.

It used to be white.

It wasn’t white any longer.

And it was getting harder, so much harder…to breathe, to walk, to even _think_.

Still, the horse ran on, until a village came into sight and Okita dismounted and stumbled forward. And—there, on the steps, with his head bowed…

 “Hi—” Okita panted, feeling his lashes opening wide and the fury inundating him until whatever was left of his lungs began closing in. “ _Hijikata-san_.”

Hijikata’s chin lifted quickly, giving show to black shadows beneath exhausted, heavy eyes and much thinner cheeks than memory served. “ _Souj_ —”

Silver flashed beneath the moon, one arm whipping the blade through the air until the tip pointed directly toward Hijikata’s nose.

With a gasp, Hijikata leapt to his feet, his shoulder slamming against the nearest structural beam as he grabbed the hilt of his own weapon. “What the fuck are you—?!”

“He loved you.” Okita’s teeth were gritted, his sword trembling with the tension in his muscles despite their depletion from illness.

The immediate confusion in Hijikata’s gaze morphed into dawning realization. And when it became clear that he was slowly piecing it all together, his mouth began to open.

Okita inhaled sharply through his nose, his voice shaking as he repeated, “He loved you _so much_. Why.” His chin raised and with a brief shake of the head, his shoulders raised in a half shrug. “I’ll never know.”

“… _Souji_.” The name fell in a hoarse whisper and then Hijikata looked past the steel…toward the garment Okita kept tightly clutched to the breast of his new uniform. Terror had never been openly present in the gaze of his commanding officer—until now. And seeing it only fueled Okita’s ire and anguish.

“But there is something that _you_ can tell me, Hijikata-san.”

“Okita-san?!” Chizuru’s voice pierced the air from somewhere in the distance.

“Souji,” Hijikata tried again breathlessly. “Souji, is that—?”

Clenching his teeth tighter, Okita pulled the folded robe from where he embraced it and rifled it toward Hijikata as hard as he could. “Why the fuck didn’t you love him like that?! He would have done _anything_ for you!”

The article slammed against Hijikata’s chest before he caught it, his fingers seizing the material. He stared at it blankly for several moments and then, it began to tremble within his grasp. Clamoring backward until his heel collided against the step, Hijikata crashed down to it again, his eyes closing and chest beginning to rise and fall with deep breaths.

“Okita-san!” Chizuru cried, much closer now. Two small hands grasped to his forearm and yanked with inconsequential strength. “Okita—”

“How could you fucking let him die?!” Okita shouted as he lunged forward, the pain in his tone so sharp it could have cut flesh from the way those around him winced. “It was _your_ job to protect him when I couldn’t!”

“ _Souji_!” Saito was on his left now, taking to a bicep and pulling him back.

“Okita-san, please!!” Chizuru pleaded. “Hijikata-san is injured!! He’s—”

Okita gave in, at last allowing himself to be drawn away for several paces while he took a good, long look at the situation before him. His brows narrowed as he observed just how worn and broken Hijikata’s appearance was—not just on the outside, but the way in which it seemed to radiate from the in. And worse yet, he still hadn’t opened his eyes. His arms had only tightened around the robe and—

“You…” Okita stammered in a whisper. “You didn’t even know…”

“Know what?” Saito asked pointedly.

Licking his lips, Okita’s shoulders slumped and he pulled himself free to sheath his sword. It was a hard swallow as he stared toward the ground, beginning to speak with strength, “Kondo-san…” But his voice faltered. “Kondo-san is dead.”

Silence.

“And. It’s _his_ fault.” Okita lifted his chin, taking in the sight of Hijikata for the final time. "I will never forgive you.”

He pivoted on the soles of his boots and strode off, with Chizuru running after him in his wake.

~

The robe was white.

And now it wasn’t.

Now it was…filled with color. Blue. But not like the moonlight Kondo used to kiss him under at the Shieikan. It was blue, like the ocean of tears that stained it. Red from the bloodied hands that had carried it. Black like the void this whole world had become.

Hijikata lay on his side in a single futon, staring at the attire folded neatly before him. His eyes were wide open, his lips parted. Sometimes, he would become aware that he’d stopped breathing, so he would make sure he did that…until he realized he’d stopped again soon after.

His palm rested on the tatami, just beneath the material—until it suddenly lifted. Fingertips trailed up to the fabric. It was firm. They caressed the blue, ran over the red, swept across the black, and then closed in.

He thought of Tama, and the things said with hope.

> _“What do I want to do? I don’t know. Do you have any idea for yourself?”_
> 
> _“Me? I wanna be like Kanko, a real warrior…Ah…that sounds, uh. Sounds funny, right, coming from a farmer?”_
> 
> _“…No. Actually, that’s what I want too.”_

Hijikata drew the robe to him and held tight.

...Of Kyoto, and the things said with determination.

> _“Well, all we gotta worry about now is making a name for ourselves here.”  
>  _
> 
> _“Mm. You’re right, Toshi.”  
>  _
> 
> _“I swear I won’t stop until you’re the most exalted samurai in this whole country.”_

He held tighter.

...Of Katsunuma, and the things said with desperation before the battle of Koufu.

> _“I’m not leaving you!”  
>  _
> 
> _“Toshi, I need you to go get reinforcements.”_
> 
> _“And I need_ you _to not die here!”_

And tighter yet…

...Of Nagareyama, and the things said with love.

> “ _Toshi, go. My hatamoto status will—_ ”
> 
> “ _Your hatamoto status doesn’t mean shit to Satcho!_ ”
> 
> “ _Then these are your orders! Hijikata-fukucho!_ ”

He held so tightly that his arms trembled.

Of Wakamatsu…

> _“He loved you. He loved you_ so much _. Why the fuck didn’t you love him like that?!”_
> 
> _“How could you fucking let him die?!”_
> 
> _“It’s_ his _fault.”_

And here Hijikata was now, with a million more things he wanted to say—of hope, of determination…of desperation and love and sorrow.

But it was useless to talk to a ghost, especially while sobbing into the robe he wore to his execution. Therefore, through his heaves, Hijikata made several promises.

He promised to build a fitting grave in a location Kondo would like.

He promised to not lay down his sword until Kondo’s name was cleared, until his robe was white.

He promised to train and develop the remaining Shinsengumi as best he could, so that their truth would live on.

But most importantly, Hijikata promised Kondo he would meet him again…somewhere out there, among the stars, some time soon. And at that time, he would throw his arms around him and never, never let go.

The sun rose the next morning. It had no right to. Still, its rays hit the window and crept across the floor, slowly, until it reached Hijikata and woke him with a gentle kiss.

His eyes fluttered…and then he turned away.

~

_Hakodate 1869_

There weren’t many things that Hijikata owned, but Chizuru still found it difficult to go through what was left of his belongings. Her hands drifted over books, over small containers. She lifted the lid of one and her breath caught.

This was... It was Kondo’s robe.

Squinting, she reached for the material—pristine and white, just as it had been all along.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! <3 No beta this time...didn't want to ask anyone to look over something like this.
> 
> And wow. I did it. I actually killed my OTP. What the hell? I have nothing to say for myself. It was unplanned.
> 
> Also, just pointing out that I intentionally broke Reimeiroku game canon regarding something with Ibuki. I won't say what because it could spoil part of the plot. :x


End file.
